I remember the Sunday School class when the teacher set small cups full of room-temperature soda in front of each of us kids. She told us to take a drink. Neither hot or cold, each of us grumbled about how it tasted gross and that we wanted ice. The teacher went on with her illustration, explaining how God would spit out the lukewarm Christians, that he’d rather us be hot or cold, on fire for him or bound to burn.
That was one of the first lessons I learned as a child — there’s no in-between for “true” Christians. You’re either sold out or a sell out. There’s no middle ground. So I chose the sold-out camp. I believed God should be the center of everything, of my existence, so that’s the way I lived (or attempted to live).
But the last eighteen months have taken their toll on my faith.
I’ve repeatedly prayed, Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.
Silence.
I’ve whimpered, No matter what, you’re good anyway.
More silence.
I’ve begged, God, I need to know you’re real and that you care.
Nothing.
I’ve wept, Pleeeeease….
No response.
. . .
A new friend with whom I’ve been sharing my questions and doubts recently described my belief system as “one foot in, one foot out.” I hadn’t necessarily thought of it that way, but he’s right. I’m somewhere in the middle: wanting to believe, but not quite believing. I’m sitting on the virtual fence. I’m the yucky, lukewarm drink. I’m in the camp of indecision.
I’m sitting atop the fence, wavering back and forth. I’m not contemplating selling out; I’m considering giving up on any remote belief that God exists.
If there’s a god who sees my deep grief and my shattered dreams, who hears my desperate pleas, who allows me to be stripped of hope, and yet he remains silent and distant, and that’s supposed to be love, I’m not interested. I’d prefer to believe that kind of god — the one who ignores me when I need him most — doesn’t exist. That’s not how I love others, and that’s no longer the kind of “love” I accept into my life. That’s no longer the kind of god I’m willing to allow to be the center of my existence. I can no longer even attempt to live a sold-out life centered around a god who guides me into the wilderness and leaves me stranded.
I’d rather believe life just happens (good and bad), and it’s up to me to deal with it. I’d rather believe it’s my responsibility as a human to be kind and generous with grace instead of believing those are byproducts of a god who doesn’t extend the same courtesies to me.
I’m sitting atop the fence, but I’m leaning heavily on the side of unbelief. I’d rather believe god doesn’t exist than believe in one who’d spit me out simply because my faith failed when he ignored me. That’s manipulative, and I can no longer drink the kool-aid (or the lukewarm soda) that says otherwise.
Hey,
My heart is breaking reading your blog. I can assure you that God exists and that He in NOT the religious and manipulative spirit that you’ve experienced. I can tell you that He exists because I know Him. He breathed life into me when I was dead. He revived my broken and crushed spirit and showed me love that is all satisfying and ever healing. You have been deeply wounded by an imitation, one you thought could be trusted but had the dagger waiting for the perfect time to inflict harm. The truth is, we only have one enemy and that is Satan. He wants us to believe that it is a person, place or event. That way, he can keep us in bitterness, unforgiveness and bondage. If that happens, he wins. When we extend forgiveness and grace, he has no power. There has not been anything done to us any greater than what we’ve done to Jesus. Jesus forgave us for everything that we have done and ever will do when we received Him as our Savior. There is nothing we can do to make Him love us any more or any less. I can assure you that He is compassionate, understanding, faithful, just, and ever present in our time of need. However, we must forgive in order to receive his healing. This one took me a long time, but when you do, like truly forgive. (Like, I only want good things for you when before I couldn’t even say your name). When you do this, there is so much freedom and growth. Don’t let the enemy win. He wants you to doubt and walk away. He wants to destroy you, your family and your testimony. He hates you and wants you to be bitter, angry and frustrated. He wants your family to doubt and for your circle of influence to do the same. Please don’t give him victory. He has already stolen too much from you. Don’t give him another moment. Get in the Word. Ask Jesus to reveal Himself all over again. I am praying for you.
Here’s the thing that is often overlooked Kim, Jesus says to forgive IF someone repents:
“If your brother or sister[a] sins against you, rebuke them; and if they repent, forgive them. 4 Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying ‘I repent,’ you must forgive them.”
Your blog propelled me back to my childhood in which the same illustration was used–Our teachers who likely never met probably got it from the same Sunday School curriculum! Ah yes, Lukewarm. Neither hot nor cold. All in or nothing. Total commitment. Whew. Like you, I chose to be “totally in” so I wouldn’t be “puked out” by God. Even as a pastor, however, I realize that my “total commitment to God” is tainted by my own self interests. Additionally, I have been frustrated by God’s not being impressed with my “total commitment” and not doting on me as I thought God should. So, why bother? Again, I have no neat, simple, tidy answers. I do think, however, that the “God would rather us be cold” meaning, absolutely no faith, than “on fire for him” is a misinterpretation of the passage (which I won’t attempt to expound here). That passage, however, is in the context of tremendous difficulties for Christian communities who, literally, were tortured to death for their faith. Even they wondered “how long will you not avenge our blood?” (Rev. 6:10). Strange literature, Jewish apocalypticism. At any rate, me thinks you’ve demonstrated more faith in your articulated faith struggles than many have in their settled lives. An expression of one’s doubts during periods of disequilibirum is, I believe, as much a profound act of faith as is confidently singing God’s praise for a life in equilibrium. I think the psalms demonstrate this. Again, I have no simple answers; not systematic steps toward healing. I appreciate your daring to walk into the deep river gorge of your own hurts and wrestle with this God. I sense in you a tenacity of gripping this God, and being in his grip. You will limp away…with a new name and, just perhaps, with a new song to sing. Whatever the outcome, Rebekah, I am blessed by your poetic words.
Rebekah, your pain over this god bleeds onto the screen. I am so terribly, terribly sorry. The one, true God upholds you, and is with you, even when you think He is not.. I have known depression. I have known utter despair (as in being suicidal). I have known I have known shattered dreams. I have known excruciating physical pain. The one thing that I can never escape (even when I do not understand God or am incredibly disappointed) is the Cross. I think it’s here that all our agony turns to the inexplicable reality that Christ chose to suffer it all for us. When He could have chosen not to die this torturous death, when He could have called down legions and legions of angel to free Him, He chose not to. It’s at the cross that love and sorrow meet. And Scripture says that God was pleased to crush Him on our behalf. How I pray that you can focus your pain here, to the One who loves you beyond measure, and the only One who truly understands pain. I am praying for your peace dear one. You are so precious to me. I want so much to take away the pain.
I can relate to this so much!!! I began to doubt about 10 years ago. It took two years of tearful, unanswered prayers and pleadings to finally admit to myself that there was nothing there. I no longer believed. It was painful, and I felt lost and abandoned. But I am stronger and happier now than I’ve ever been, and I know that, eventually, you will be too <3
Hi, Mark. Thanks for reading and relating! Yeah, most of my prayers (if one could truly call them that) these days start with, “God, if you’re there…” So frustrating. I’m out of faith.
Rebekah
The last three paragraphs of your post perfectly poetically expressed the way I felt sitting on the fence. The pain, despair, and silence, I experienced them all. I however no longer sit on the fence because I have come to the conclusion that there is no evidence for the existence of this god. I am no longer a believer, I made peace with my self and with my life, and I have never felt such an incredible sense of well being, of freedom and purpose. Things are not perfect and of course there are moments of pain and confusion. But the pure frustration of waiting on someone who promises to make things better but who will never show up is no longer there.
This might not be the path you ultimately choose, but leaving the faith was the best thing I did for my sanity and emotional well being.
Hi, Yolanda. Thanks for sharing your experience. I’m still trying to come to terms with the idea my counselor keeps suggesting: no one can truly know (about god, afterlife, etc) until we die, so why worry about it? That’s completely opposite of everything that was ever drilled into my brain by religion.
I do have a question for you. You said you have an incredible sense of purpose. One of the struggles/questions that keeps coming up for me is wondering if I still have a purpose. How did you discover yours? Is it different from when you were a believer?
Thanks for reading!
Rebekah,
My purpose now is definitely different from when I was a believer, which was to serve god and be a witness to him. As an atheist, I do not believe my life has any ultimate meaning. Actually, coming to terms with my mortality and insignificance in the grand scheme of things was one of the harder parts of leaving the faith. I guess that was one of its most comforting offerings, that at the end all of life makes sense (“for all things work together yada yada yada.”).
Though my life has no ultimate meaning, I give it purpose: for myself, for the people I love and who love me back, for the community (-ies) I am part of. It might sound trite and cliched, but my purpose is to be there for the people I love, to be in the moment, to enjoy them, to love them in tangible ways that will make them feel loved and appreciated. To be kind and generous to my fellow human, as an act of choosing freely, not out of religious compulsion.
As I do not believe in an afterlife, I am conscious that life is precious and short, and should be enjoyed and appreciated. I aim to do things I enjoy, which includes a lot of physical things, as we are physical beings.I try to stop and enjoy the moment, even the mundane ones.
As you explained so well in your blog, I take responsibility for my life, my feelings and well being. No one is going to save me or make things better. And when the inevitable hardships come (disease, heartache, what not), hopefully I can count on my loved ones to help me carry me through. One of the freedoms won is the freedom to not have all things together, not to be “victorious” all the time. Sometimes we hurt, are vulnerable, and feel lonely, and we can admit it, to ourselves and to others. Yet at the same I try not to be a slave to my feelings. One of my favorite mantras: “feelings are not facts,” meaning for instance that I sometimes I do feel lonely, but that does not mean I do not have meaningful, loving relationships in my life.
I hope this helps. No religious philosopher here, just my experience.